Dear Nick,

Yesterday you turned 5 weeks old. Your birth was quick, violent and unmedicated. You came out face up and screaming, the umbilical cord was wrapped around your neck twice and your body once. You were put on my stomach and you looked at me (even though you were almost as blind as a newborn kitten) and reacted to my voice. While they stitched me back together again, your father held you, and the two of you spent the time making faces at each other.

You were above average long and skinny. Delicate fingers, long legs and arms, steel blue eyes, perfect and precious. A huge purple bruise on your forehead certainly due to my pelvic bone and your unconventional position. A gorgeous head of hair, different shades of blond, it looks like you got expensive highlights at a salon. The nurses call you Blondie and they swaddle you tight. You’re a bit jaundiced, your heels get pricked to squeeze blood into tiny vials, and this may have hurt me more than you. Your skin and the whites of your eyes were tinged yellow, and the first days we concentrated on feeding and pooping to get rid of it, and we did. You were very delicate and fragile looking the first three weeks, then you started filling out and got very smoochable cheeks and a little double chin, but no michelin tire thighs. You have long light eyelashes and your golden eyebrows are invisible unless the light shines on them just so. See?

You’re strong, you’ve been holding your head up since birth and when you’re feeding you sometimes hold onto my finger so fiercely your knuckles turn white. And sometimes you feed so ferociously you have to take a few moments to recover after, like a runner after completing a marathon.  You have to be asleep before we put you in your bassinet, but you really like sleeping on me or your father best. When you fall asleep in my arms after feeding, you sometimes squint open one eye to make sure you’re still with me and not in your bassinet yet, because you know I will put you down at some point. I thought I loved you when you were in my womb, but when they put you on my stomach the second you were born, I knew I was feeling something I had never felt before, and now I’ll be one of those annoying people who say that you can’t explain it until it happens to you. True love. About a week ago, you started really looking at us, and sometimes you have this astonished look on your face as if to say oh, you’re attached to the breast? Well alright then. And you’ve started smiling. When you smile at your father his heart just melts away, he’s very happy that you’re here, I can tell.

You don’t like being immobile, you prefer moving around. You love being strapped to a chest in the baby carrier, and you like being in the car seat, as long as the car is moving. You like it when we pace with you in our arms to put you to sleep. The other day you and I sang and danced to the Beatles, and that delighted you. Your speech is developing and you ooh and aah. You laugh and coo when I read to you from a book your father wrote, it’s the weirdest thing and it’s hilarious. I usually speak speak to you in Swiss German and when I speak to you in English you sometimes look at me amazed; you can tell the difference. You make many noises in your sleep, grunts and sighs. You must have vivid dreams. You suckle in your sleep, too. You adore tilting your head back to stare at ceiling structures, maybe that’s why you came out face up. It looks like you’re on the verge of discovering your hands. Your legs seem super strong and it sometimes feels like you want to use them to crawl during tummy time, or push to a standing position when we’re holding you. Don’t do that yet, okay? Don’t freak your mama out. You’re a good and happy baby, but you’re also blessed with a terrific set of lungs that make for great crying and excellent screaming. Of course, to us you seem humungous compared to five weeks ago, but when other people meet you they always amazed how tiny you are, and it’s true, you still are. I remember we saw a neighbor in the elevator and he asked how old you were and after I answered he exclaimed: “10 days?!? Days? He has so much personality for 10 days!” And that’s you: a lot of personality. I can’t believe how lucky we are that you were given to us.

8 days a week, I love you, 8 days a week, is not enough to show I care,


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I really like the phrase "always an adventure". I am a Reiki Master and work as a therapist in Manhattan, in my private practice and at a cancer center. I also freelance as a translator in the New York City area and beyond.


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